In Memorium
by Echo Vanity
Summary: Mild Drarry, Character Deaths. One-shot drabbly thing. COMPLETE. "When the news breaks tha the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour, the Hero has taken his own life, there is only shocked, bewildered, blessed silence..."


*A/N* Mildest of slash warnings, major character deaths. Kind of just came to me, and it's a bit different to what I normally write. Just a oneshot, almost drabbleish thing. Enjoy, please review. J.K Rowling owns all.

When it ends, there is only silence.

There will be screaming soon, and gut-wrenching sobs.

But when the news breaks that, six months after the end of the worst war the Wizarding world has ever known, the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour, the Hero

Has taken his own life,

There is only shocked, stunned, bewildered, blessed

Silence

As the world tries to comprehend all they have lost.

Harry Potter as per the wishes detailed in his suicide note, is buried in an unmarked grave, and the location is known only to those who could understand why he would wish it to be so.

Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

They gather a week after Harry's body was found, and watch, dry eyed but shattered as his frail corpse is lowered into the earth, on the outskirts of the cemetery in Godric's Hollow, suicides after all, not being permitted to rest on sanctified earth.

The four gaze, stony faced, but with such exquisite pain blossoming in their eyes, as the dark, fragrant earth is lowered onto the oak coffin, as their best friend, brother, lover is slowly stolen from their sight.

The four who knew him as Harry

Not Hero

Do not attend the public memorial service, have no desire to pollute their eyes with the sight of the shining gold monument the Ministry erected at great expense.

In their eyes, it cheapens the service Harry did for them, for the world.

And the Prophet questions Harry's actions, time and time again.

Why would the Boy Who Lived, the Hero, the Savior, take his life now, when everything is over, when he finally had a chance to live a normal life?

Hoardes of press crowd around the Weasely's and Hermione, begging for answers, unable to grant their Hero privacy, even now he is gone.

They are remorseless, and finally it is Ginny who snaps, sending dozens of curses their way before breaking down in her brother's arms, screaming and sobbing and begging the vultures to "JUST LET HIM BE!"

And Draco watches them all, unencumbered by relenteless paparazzi who never knew the truth the Death Eater and the Hero shared. He knows why, understands, and envy's Harry his ability to leave it all behind.

Every night he makes his way to his worst enemy's best-friends, almost lover's graveside and sits, smoking, and staring at the sky.

Sometimes he speaks, softly. Reluctant to disturb the peace Harry has finally found in the cold embrace of death. He tells the boy of his life, post-war. As he tries to rebuild a life in the shadow of all he has done, the memory of his father's part in the war, the echoes and repercussions that come with the Mark on his arm.

He will sigh, often. But he does not cry.

As the time passes, and the first anniversary of Harry's death comes and goes, Draco speaks less and less.

But his thoughts become more turbulent.

He understands, on a basic level, why Harry took his own life.

How empty his life must have been, when he had fulfilled everything he was ever meant to do at the tender age of 17.

The guilt he must have felt, and the loss as everyone he could call family were ripped away from him, once again.

Draco knows sometimes Harry must have wished he had not lived, after having died.

How peaceful death must have seemed, how inevitable, compared to living with the aftermath of a war

The responsibility of which he placed firmly on his own fragile shoulders.

After all, the only other person who could take the blame was dead.

And in the aftermath, Harry had approached Draco, holding out his wand like an olive branch.

And Draco had said simply

"Thank you,".

And was rewarded with a blinding smile and a whispered,

"No, Draco. Thank you."

And as the long days passed, and the world tried to rebuild, it seemed the two were thrown together more and more, rarely talking but exchanging glances and small, soft, sad smiles that made them blush and turn away once more.

And the press hounded Harry about his future

And begging to be told what really happened the night Voldemort was finally defeated.

But Harry turned away, and withdrew into himself. Draco could see the light dying in his eyes and knew everything he hoped might happen between them was already dying.

And he watched, with Hermione, Ron and Ginny as the boy they all loved became distant and cold and empty. He lacked direction, and they despaired.

When the news came, they alone were not surprised.

Devastated, but not shocked.

And Draco thought he knew.

Knew how Harry must have felt.

But he is only now truly realizing how monumental it is to lose

Everything.

To have no direction, when a single goal has driven you for so long.

Draco's mother lies in a magically induced coma, after she was tortured brutally by Aurors, demanding to know her involvement in the War.

And Draco's father rots in a gaol cell, having been Kissed.

And everything Draco was working for since he was 14- to protect his family,

Has been stolen from him.

Draco thinks and his mind aches with the knowledge, that if this is how empty he feels,

How disconsolate, how lost must Harry have felt to have lost everything he had been striving towards since he was born?

And he wishes he had been enough for the boy he loved so desperately.

Such a fine, fine line between hate and

Love

And one they may have been able to cross

If they were different people, with different lives.

And Draco's eyes burn as he stares at the silent, undisturbed grave, decorated only with three single white roses, left by Ginny, Hermione and Ron on the anniversary. They are fading now, slowly, as the freshness charm placed on them wears out and they are washed out even further by the blood-red rose Draco conjures.

He kisses it, and a single tear falls onto it's lush petals, before he places it with the other's.

He raises his wand once more and points it at himself.

There is a whispered curse, a flash of green.

Then nothing but silence, broken only by the winnowing wind through the trees.

When the news breaks that Draco Malfoy is dead, the world does not falter. There are smug smirks, vicious whisperings that the scum got what he deserved, a few eyebrows raised in shock that the Malfoy boy would kill himself, what a plebian way to die.

There is no note, but the only people left who knew him at all bury him in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of the cemetery at Godric's Hollow.

And every year, only three weeks apart, three white roses are left on two grave sites, and the three smile sadly. But they say nothing.

And every year, two almost visible specters watch them, one with eyes the colour of smoke, and one with burning emeralds. The two clasp hands, before they fade away.

And the rest is silence.


End file.
